


You're just like an angel, your skin makes me cry

by Super_trooper



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Eddie has split personalities, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, haha dorks in love tag, he is legit in love with Waylon hear me out, i wish, read it you coward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22641235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Super_trooper/pseuds/Super_trooper
Summary: Waylon couldn't help but smile,Eddie's roars were like a gentle piano piece,even as the monster lunged for his throat...In which Waylon knows he will never escape and accepts his life with Eddie Gluskin.A snapshot, if you will....
Relationships: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park
Comments: 8
Kudos: 189





	You're just like an angel, your skin makes me cry

**Author's Note:**

> In this I sort of portrayed Eddie as having seperate personalities that can be triggered. It's an interesting dynamic I don't linger on too much.  
> Imagine writing an outlast fic in 2020

Eddies roughened thumb pad traces the outline of Waylon's lips.  
The gentle stroking smears the blood dripping from his sliced cheekbone, the colour bold and bad on his blotched and milky skin.  
In his dazed state, Waylon couldn't give less of a shit. He felt locked out of his own skin, devoid of any control; his ears were fuzzy and his body felt like it was submerged in maple syrup.  
Was he alive or dead? Screaming or ejaculating? Floating in the Thames or Ganges with nothing but a ham sandwich to his name? Waylon park wouldn't be surprised ... Perhaps the only thing he was really sure of was that he wasn't sure of anything.  
Not even sure if the droplets on his cheek fell as rain or tears.  
Is this it? Am I finally dead?  
Waylon hoped that was the case, drifting further away from consciousness.  
…  
He must have sounded like a fish out of water when he finally willed his gloopy eyes awake, because immediately he heard commotion, and hasty steps coming closer. Fear spiked and his body convulsed in panic, hardly moving in his paralyzed state.

He was laying on a familiar bed, their bed, it helped the aching in his bones. Out of his wincing eyes he saw the room was lit in the midday sun, a sobering image of the asylum. During the day it was a different place all together. It was always oddly quiet, peaceful even - in comparison to the horrors it contained as the sun went down. Mount Massive during the day, under the sun, appeared like a memorial. Grubby and forgotten, hiding it's secrets well. When the moon rose, however, as did the asylums worst.

Suddenly the hands of God appeared.  
Waylon winced, frozen and enamoured. Expecting the worst, as usual. However, in God's place it was Eddie who appeared, his great, grizzly hands acting to catch Waylon's trembling skull.   
His captor/carer/ doting husband was falling over himself; Clambering hastily onto the bed.  
Eddie had the biggest, _biggest_ grin on his face.  
His eyes looked a little gloopy too.   
Waylon felt so much relief it only heightened his confusion.   
The big oaf would break his cheeks if he looked any happier.

"Darling"  
Eddie nearly sobbed out, pressing a long, hard kiss to Waylon's brow, through his matted hair.  
“You don’t know how worried i've been, my beloved - you must feel terribIe, I- I ripped that motherfucker to _shreds_! I- I've been so scared - terrified and I mean-”  
“ _Eddie_ ” Waylon whispered abruptly

"be quiet, my head hurts”

Probably a dumb thing to say, in retrospect, Waylon wouldn't be surprised if he too was ripped to shreds. But this was Eddie, he could tell, not the man downstairs, this was someone who loved him and _really liked_ to fret.  
Eddies blubbering halted promptly and he sobbed out a shaky laugh.  
Reluctant and obedient, he withdrew to sit at the end of the bed. From there, Waylon had a full view of the disheveled man. He hadn’t noticed the very un-eddie stubble, nor the stark red encircling his eyes that, although looked sort of handsome, was the remnants of sorrow.  
_Man, he’d really got himself worked up huh_...was Waylon's immediate mental commentary  
no use crying over a dead man.

His eyes fell to the hand petting what was left of his right leg. Adoring and devoted. You could never guess those hands were the ones to hack it off in the first place.

  
With eyes lidded he grinned.  
"Hiya Eddie"  
A grin back. Waylon thought the sun on his face was pretty. "Good to have you back sweetpea"  
"Miss me, huh?"  
A gentle nod was his reply, he looked like he'd been dragged through hell (as if Waylon looked any better ) boneless and tired.

He poked at Eddie's chest with his remaining foot lovingly,

"You're so _dramatic_ ", a hand curled around his ankle, "Eddie - I trust you took care of me but have you been taking care of yourself? Looks to me a man really can't do _anything_ by himself" he sneaked a small smile.

"I must look a real mess, huh?" Gluskin bestowed a dazzling grin, " Sorry you have to see me like this sugar… I had to have my priorities straight after you fainted like a little girl..."  
Waylon searched his mind for his last waking memory.  
Ah yes  
_It was a dark and stormy night_  
Fucked out and fuzzy, pissing in some grubby urinal. Took him a second to find the place in the dark, rolling his wheelchair was a complete nightmare of course and by then he was just relieved to relieve himself.

He needed a breather after all.

  
Only minutes before he had came hard - wrapped up tight in Eddie's arms. They were practically melded to eachother in their proximity.   
Rutting up against each other - they were like animals.  
Pure heat, bliss, slaps, groans.

Eddies spit in his mouth, Eddie's hands yanking his hair, Eddie fucking everywhere. Moments like that where Waylon felt human, like he had purpose. When it peaked he had snogged Waylon one last time before letting out a big gruff yawn and collapsing on the mattress.

As per usual, Waylon wanted to pee - a little alone time where a man can collect his thoughts.

Unfortunately, his previous endeavours must have instilled some sort of optimism within him- that or he lost a couple of braincells with his jizz. Regardless, the consequences shined through and he soon began to realise in what way he jeopardized his safety. Otherwise he might not have been ambushed by a huge, ugly variant.  
Waylon couldn't help being a complete idiot sometimes.   
The pure fear that slid cold down his back when he heard the door slam open - the silence cut short,   
knowing how completely defenceless he was right there. He could have laughed.  
He remembered how he prayed to God, to anyone. Prayed that it was some brain dead, glassy eyed, lost soul wandering the halls and not what he turned his head to.  
His teary eyes met the hellish orbs and all was still for a second.  
The grotty bathroom light spitting yellow intermittently over an antagonizing, electronic hum. Lips trembling and drowning in panic -  
he did the only thing he could   
"EDDIE"  
his screech tore through his entire body.  
Waylon knew he would have heard that- hell, the whole asylum would have heard it.

Heard it and knew what it meant too. Everyone knew The Grooms 'Bride' and knew how the fuck to act around 'her'.  
So even as the variant became quicker in his approach, knowing what was to come - that The Groom was on his way - Waylon could see he was too blinded by bloodlust to care for the approaching steps.  
Waylon couldn't help but smile,  
Eddie's roars were like a gentle piano piece,  
even as the monster lunged for his throat.  
….  
His thoughts were interrupted by a kiss to his palm.  
"I can't do anything without you, Waylon"  
He liked this side of him: the human side. The Groom wasn't Eddie, The Groom was a sick bi-product of this fucking hellhole. The Groom never called him Waylon.  
As perfect as he tried to be, Eddie's fatal flaw was his inability to let Waylon die.

The wedding gift of all wedding gifts: to end the neverending fear - the search for food, the smells and horror _,_ screaming in the halls and away from the Groom who shared his bed. If Eddie really loved him- he would kill him.

He brushed away those useless thoughts as he pressed a soft kiss to the scarred forehead of the man in his arms. He was lucky to have him, considering his situation.

He knew he would die here.

It was probably going to be in a few years from now, probably starvation, infection maybe. 

As long as his groom stood beside him, stroking his lips, kissing his neck - he was safe.  
The thought was enough to make him cry.  
He pulled Eddie closer.


End file.
